Common People
by BathshebaRocks
Summary: Eric Northman's playboy lifestyle provokes his father once too often, so as punishment he is sent to discover life in the real world working on the Renard Parish road crew in Bon Temps.  How will he cope?  Human Eric, other characters/timeline follow book
1. Sunday

_**The story is set in Louisiana, and all the Bon Temps characters are as they are in the books. Sookie is dating Bill, and Rene has just been sent to prison. Eric, however, is human. **_

_**As you know all the characters are the property of Charlaine Harris, although I believe she sold them to Alan Ball. One or two TB characters may creep in.**_

**_Sunday_**

Eric Northman winced in pain as the shutters to his bedroom were flung open and sunlight flooded in. His head was throbbing even before his father began to yell at him, throwing a copy of the 'Shreveport Times' onto the bed.

It was open at the gossip page, which was graced by a photo of Eric, looking very much the worse for wear. He was stumbling out of a bar, one arm round a willowy brunette and the other hand grasping the breast of a very well-endowed blonde.

"Remind me again which contract we're going after at the moment?" Godfrey Northman addressed his son as if he were speaking to a young and rather stupid child. At that moment it was a pretty accurate description of how he felt about him.

Eric scowled in response but said nothing; he knew exactly what was coming as his father continued.

"The new Fellowship of the Sun complex outside Monroe is the biggest construction project in Northern Louisiana this year. If Northman Construction doesn't win it, I'll have to lay off at least twenty guys. How many times do I have to remind you that the contract has a moral turpitude clause. Once again you seem determined to ruin everything."

"At least the girls were both human," Eric retorted with a smirk.

"I will see you in my office in ten minutes." Godfrey turned and walked purposefully out of the room, making sure to slam the door hard behind him.

'_Fucking killjoy'_ Eric thought, groaning again as he moved his head. There was no doubt he'd overdone the champagne last night. The gram of coke he'd shared with the two women hadn't helped either. He struggled to remember their names. He should at least remember the blonde, she'd given him the finest blow-job he'd had for a month, right there in the VIP booth of Shreveport's most upscale nightclub.

If only his Dad wasn't so mean, he would have his own apartment and he could have taken them both back there to continue the fun. As it was the pittance his Dad allocated him for his job with Northman Construction just about covered his designer suits, hectic social life, and running the vintage Corvette that was his pride and joy. Running an apartment as well was out of the question, not unless he got a big promotion. There wasn't much chance of that any time soon, Godfrey Northman never tired of reminding anyone who would listen how he had built the business from nothing and he was determined that his son should work his way up, just as he had.

Work was a rather loose term for what how Eric spent his days. Sure he showed up in the office, and put in six or seven hours; provided you counted his midday break. He pushed a few papers around, entertained clients, and turned up on site from time to time to joke with the guys.

He hated it, well most of it. Entertaining the clients could be fun, particularly when they brought their wives with them. A bit of surreptitious flirting with the silicone-breasted blondes they seemed to favor was always entertaining. Schmoozing was one of his talents and that normally helped him to stay just on the right side of his father.

This time though he had a horrible feeling that he had gone too far and that even his silver tongue wouldn't be able to talk him out of this situation. He recognized the look of grim determination on Godfrey Northman's face as he entered his study. He'd seen it before and it always meant trouble for him. He tried his hardest to look contrite as he waited for his father to speak.

"I think it's about time you found out what life is like in the real world. I've arranged a new job for you, and a place to live. I'm suspending your allowance. You can live on what you earn for a change."

Eric tried and failed to suppress a smirk. He'd wanted his own place, and now he was going to get it. How hard would it be to stick to a budget? True he had been more of a champagne than a beer guy since he'd left college. Apart from that though he only needed gas for his Corvette and a few lines of coke each weekend. His gym membership was paid up for the year, and there was a limit to how many new clothes he could wear.

He pondered briefly what the new job might be. It only took a moment for his father to wipe the smile off his face.

"The Renard parish road crew are a man down since one of their guys was arrested for murder recently. Bud Dearborn, the sheriff there, is an old friend of mine and he's fixed it for you to get the job."

Eric stared at him uncomprendingly. Renard Parish was right up in the north of the state, no more than a few no-account towns full of inbreeds, or so he'd heard. He didn't like the sound of working on the road crew either. It was only one step up from a chain gang. If any of his friends found out about this, his reputation would be shot.

"I'll take your car keys please. You can have Isabel's old Hyundai."

Eric couldn't disguise his outrage. "No way am I driving that old wreck." His stepmother drove a ten-year-old hatchback for her charity work in downtown Shreveport. Her sleek BMW coupe would attract far too much attention, but the old yellow car was perfectly anonymous even in the roughest of neighborhoods.

"You will do as I tell you, if you want any chance of keeping your job with my company." That was typical Godfrey Norman, his son thought bitterly, never missing an opportunity to put him in his place.

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He knew from experience that there was no chance of his father backing down. He would have to play along, at least for a while. His head still hurt too much to try to think of a way out of it.

"Fine, whatever you say, it's not a big deal," Eric forced a nonchalant expression and sauntered out of the room.

He took his time packing a bag, choosing his oldest jeans and t-shirts. There would certainly be no point in wasting designer clothes on a town which most likely counted Wal-Mart as the height of sophistication. On second thoughts he added a couple of well-cut pairs of jeans and some silk boxers, just in case. Uncomplicated sex with some country girl would suit him just fine. He'd heard that what they lacked in sophistication, they made up for in enthusiasm.

It was a good thing that Luna Garcia, their Latino housekeeper, had always had a soft spot for him. She kept him supplied with freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee as he sorted his things and reflected on the unfairness of this turn of events. Like all of his friends, he lived life to the full. 'Work hard; play hard' was their motto, with emphasis on the 'play'. It was what they expected, what was due to them. Their families were all rich, and if their fathers could afford a new trophy wife every five or six years, they could hardly begrudge their sons the best things in life.

It wasn't as if he was the only one of his friends to appear regularly in the gossip column of the local paper. To be honest he sometimes regarded it as a public service: without them to write about the local media would probably go out of business. Apart from an occasional film shoot in the area there wasn't a lot else to grab the readers' attention.

One hour and three strong coffees later, he could no longer put off the inevitable. He gave Luna a quick hug, but didn't bother going through to say goodbye to his Dad or Stepmom. He winced, more with embarrassment than pain, as he maneuvered himself awkwardly into the Hyundai. He just hoped that he could get out of the city without being seen. As soon as he reached the city limits he put his foot hard on the gas and drove the Hyundai so hard it started to shake.

He was still reflecting on the shitty hand he'd been dealt as he pulled off Highway 70 into the little town of Bon Temps. All his worst fears were confirmed. It was low rise and low rent. A small parade of shops lined the main street. Several were boarded up, but an old-fashioned coffee shop was open, and a bit further along a beauty parlor, and a women's dress shop. On the opposite side was the town Police station and Courtroom.

He'd been given an address, which turned out to be on one of the side streets. He pulled up outside, stopping in front of an old pick-up truck. As he checked it out in his rear-view mirror, he saw a small, wiry guy emerge and begin to walk towards him. He took a couple of moments to appraise him, before extricating himself from his own car.

The stranger stuck out a hand in greeting as he approached, "Hi, I'm Sam Merlotte," He was smaller than Eric, but muscular and wiry, his hair blond with a hint of red. "You must be Eric Northman. I'm your new landlord."

Eric nodded a brief acknowledgement, then followed as Sam led the way up the steps to the porch, swung open the insect screen, and unlocked the front door.

The duplex smelled musty, as if it hadn't been occupied for a few months. The air of neglect was overlaid with a strong aroma of cheap household cleaning products.

"I guess it's not quite what you're used to. I've had it cleaned though since…" He stopped abruptly.

"Since?" Eric questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Sam was silent for a few moments. "You'll hear it from someone soon enough I guess. The last tenant was murdered here. A girl called Dawn, she worked in my bar."

Eric shrugged. "I hope you've reduced the rent then," he said coldly. The death of some small town hooker meant less than nothing to him.

Sam narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He hadn't known what to expect when Bud Dearborn had called him earlier, asking for a favor. He was mighty glad to get the place off his hands. Even a short term let might be enough to help shake the memory of Dawn's tragic death. Still, he found it hard to warm to this stranger and his casual disregard for another life.

He suppressed his dislike, and force a smile. "If there's anything you need, here's my cell-phone number," he thrust a sheet of paper into the hand of his new tenant. I run a bar just on the edge of town. Drop by if you feel like a beer, I'll introduce you to the locals."

"_God save me from that_," Eric thought, but turned on his most insincere smile as he forced himself to shake the other man's hand again. Once Sam had left he took a look round his new home. The furniture had definitely seen better days; it reminded him of a cheap whorehouse he and his buddies had visited once for a bachelor party. He winced with disgust as he ran a hand over the bed linen; it was some kind of synthetic material he couldn't even put a name to.

Sighing loudly, he lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The springs groaned every time he shifted his position, and he thought he could feel one digging into his back. This was not a bed built for sex, even if he did find someone he could bring himself to have sex with in this backwater.

"_You can do this, Northman_," he told himself sternly. He'd been through bad times before, like when his real Mom died and he was sent away to school. That had been dreadful at first. Most of the other boys came from old money, and looked down on him and his family. He'd won them round though, some with his fists and some with generosity. No-one could ever call him mean, not when it came to spending Dad's money anyway.

It wasn't as if he was a weakling either – he worked out at the gym four times a week – you didn't get abs like his watching TV. A little bit of hard work, a lot of charm and enough money, he could get through this ordeal in no time, and be back in Shreveport where he belonged.

Checking his watch he decided to pass on Sam Merlotte's offer to introduce him to the locals. He just didn't have the energy to turn on the charm, and besides he was still feeling too sorry for himself. Checking the fridge he discovered that his landlord had left a welcome pack: a four-pack of Bud, a loaf of bread, some thin-cut ham, coffee and some milk.

The beer didn't do anything to improve his mood. It didn't help that there was no air-con in the apartment, just a noisy ceiling fan. High summer in northern Louisiana and the heat was oppressive. It reminded him of when he was little, when his Dad had just started up the business, and the three of them lived in a small apartment in northern Shreveport.

It had been cramped and hot, but still his memories were happy ones. Sometimes he imagined he could smell his mother. He was too young to care that her perfume was cheap; all he knew was that her skin was soft as she rubbed her cheek against his.

Shaking off the memory he undressed and got into bed. He dozed off a few times, only to wake bathed in sweat and tangled in the damp and uncomfortable sheets. A cold shower gave a brief respite, and finally, in the early hours he fell asleep.

The relief didn't last long. It seemed to him only the blink of an eye before he was woken by the insistent honking of a car horn outside his window. He turned over and pulled the pillow down over his head to block out the noise. That worked for all of two minutes before that noise was replaced by a loud banging on the door of his apartment.

"Hey man," a man's voice shouted, "time for work – it's six thirty already."

So this was real life, down with the common people. Well as far as he was concerned they could keep it.

_**The title of this story comes from the **__Pulp__** song, in which Jarvis Cocker tells the story of a rich girl he met at Art College who wanted to live like the working classes. As he explains to her, she never can, because when things get tough she can always run back to Daddy.**_

_**I posted this first chapter by way of a teaser, and now I feel guilty about the delay in following it up. There will be more, but (as at 6th August) I've just got a bit stuck. Thanks to all the people who've fed back on this chapter, especially the suggestions on how much he would earn and what things cost. I promise all of you there will be more, hopefully before too long.**_


	2. Monday

**Monday**

I opened the door to find a fresh-faced guy, who I guessed was about my age, standing on the porch.

"Hey man, you're not ready to go," my unwelcome visitor launched in without ceremony. "Catfish will have our tails if we're late. You're going to end up shovelling asphalt."

"For fuck sake, it's only six forty-five," I cursed. I had no idea what he was talking about, but my working day never normally started before nine-thirty. The only time I ever saw the sun this early was if he was on my way home from the night before.

"Yeah, and we start at seven, now get your ass in gear." My visitor turned on the heel of his old cowboy boots and stalked off.

The words 'road crew' swam slowly back into my head. Taking a cue from my visitor, I rummaged through his bag pulling out an old pair of jeans and a vest. I wasn't used to starting the day without a coffee but perhaps they could pick one up on the way.

He was waiting for me at the bottom of the driveway standing next to a black pick-up truck decorated with garish pink swirls.

As I shuffled blearily towards him, I made a discreet appraisal. He was muscular, and good-looking, with blond hair a few shades darker than mine, and lively blue eyes. He was a good six inches shorter than me, but that was no surprise as almost everyone is shorter than me.

"I'm Jason, Jason Stackhouse," he introduced himself as I hiked myself up into the passenger seat.

"Eric North…Beaumont," I responded sharply. "So I'm guessing you work on the Renard Parish road crew?" Either that or I was being kidnapped.

"Yeah, I guess you'd say I'm deputy supervisor. Catfish Hennessey is the supervisor, and man you don't want to get on the wrong side of him, he's kind of unforgiving."

I'd stopped listening; he was suffering from a bad case of caffeine withdrawal. "Can we stop at a Starbucks on the way, I really need a coffee."

"Starbucks!" Stackhouse burst out laughing as I scowled. "This is Bon Temps we're talking about. If you're lucky Hoyt might share his flask with you."

We sat in silence for a while. I was still half asleep, and certainly in no mood for idle chat. I caught him taking a few surreptitious glances though. His hands on the wheel were a lot rougher than mine. He was wearing a vest and I could see the tan lines at the top of his arms. My tan, in contrast, was all over, acquired on Isabel's sun-bed not out in the fields.

His curiosity got the better of him eventually. "You're new in town then?" He asked, stating the obvious.

I nodded.

"Beaumont, are you family to the Beaumonts of Baton Rouge?"

That was a complication I hadn't anticipated. My stepmother's family were one of the oldest in the state. I think Dad had married her thinking it would make him less of an outsider and give him some Southern class.

"No." Then, realising I was in danger of sounding too harsh I asked what we were going to be doing today.

He explained that we would be resurfacing the road out to the High School Football Stadium, ready for the autumn semester. Apparently there wasn't much shade out on that stretch. He warned me that I should be prepared for a hard day in the summer heat. Naturally I wasn't.

"That's okay," he replied, sounding less cheerful. "I've loaded some water in the back of the truck for me an' Hoyt; I guess there's enough to share."

The reality of what I was in for kicked in at around ten am. The sky had been a perfect cloudless blue all morning, and the glare of the sun combined with the asphalt we were laying to create a shimmering heat haze which seemed heavy enough to cling to us. I was drenched in sweat, and my skin felt as if it was coated with a fine sheen of dust.

I realised that I'd never done real physical work before; my gym workouts were my only regular exertion. I was grateful for the effort I'd been putting in recently. If it wasn't for that I would have faced total humiliation in front of my new workmates.

Jason Stackhouse, although short and wiry, was strong enough to shovel asphalt with a steady rhythm. His buddy Hoyt was built like a bear so had no trouble shifting his share, and even the third member of the gang, a slightly built, extremely camp, black guy, kept up with no trouble at all. It was all I could do to supress the grunts of pain as I did my share, but I was determined not to look weak.

What made it just about bearable was the stream of banter the three guys kept up. They targeted each other's girlfriends, or Jason's at least. Hoyt appeared to be rather lacking with the ladies, while it was obvious that the black guy had tastes which swung in another direction altogether. He kept up a low level flirtation with me most of the morning. I like to think I'm pretty broadminded and took it with good humour.

As midday approached, Catfish Hennessey took pity on us and ordered a two hour break. It wasn't a minute too soon for me. I didn't realise quite how exhausted I was until I sat down. Leaning back against the rough bark of a tree I had to shut my eyes to fend off the dizziness which threatened to overwhelm me. I must have dozed off, and as I woke up I slowly became aware of three voices sharing a whispered conversation nearby. It was clear that the subject was me.

"Maybe he's on the run, some kind of witness protection programme," I recognised Jason's voice.

"Nah…" Hoyt sounded doubtful, "he'd be more nervous, surely."

"I know," Lafayette weighed in, "he's on one of those reality TV shows – maybe he's a secret millionaire and he's looking for someone deserving to share his money with."

"You've sussed me out," I said quietly, amused at the reaction of my workmates.

"You're right this isn't exactly my normal line of work, but …well it's kind of hush-hush….I can't really say any more." I hadn't yet thought of a good cover story, but they seemed to have plenty of ideas, and it was probably best to leave them guessing, I decided.

Jason looked impressed, and nodded sagely at Hoyt, as if I had now explained everything. Lafayette rolled his eyes, and Hoyt just shrugged as if he didn't care one way or the other.

"If there's anything you need, sweet thing," Lafayette crooned, "anything at all, you know who to call: Lala is yo' man."

Struggling to my feet, I hi-fived my workmate.

"Will you two quit with that homo shit," Catfish was obviously not a tolerant guy at the best of times, and it seemed the midsummer heat was trying his patience.

The afternoon dragged on even longer than the morning. Every muscle in my body ached, and the sweat was causing some very unpleasant chafing in the groin area. I was also ravenously hungry. I hadn't even thought about making lunch, and was lucky that my new workmates had a little extra to share. Tomorrow I was going to have to get my ass in gear if I was to have any chance of getting through the day.

"You want me to pick you up tomorrow?" Jason asked as he dropped me off outside the little apartment back in Bon Temps.

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks man." Anything was better than driving the Hyundai, and besides I could save myself a few dollars on gas. I lowered myself down from the passenger seat onto the sidewalk, my muscles already seizing up after the short journey.

Luckily for me Jason's attention was on a cute chick in tight shorts, who was crossing the road in front of his truck, so he didn't notice the hiss of pain which I couldn't quite control. I sauntered up to my front porch converting stiffness into swagger for the benefit of any passers-by.

Too tired and thirsty even to change, I popped a can of Bud from the fridge, and stretched out on the beaten up old porch seat to watch the world go by.

Two red-headed kids cycled along the road and up the drive of the house opposite. The girl, who he guessed to be about six or seven, studiously avoided looking at me. Her brother, who was maybe a couple of years older, stared with unashamed curiosity. I returned his gaze with a smile. I could remember being that age, when life seemed so easy and uncomplicated, before Mom…..no, I wasn't going to go there. Shrugging my shoulders for the benefit of no-one in particular I headed back inside to raid the fridge; I had a fierce hunger after the exertions of the day.

Sam's welcome pack wouldn't last long, I was ravenous, and besides I was going to need to make up a lunch-box for the next day.

Jason had given me directions to the Walmart store out towards Monroe that he said served most of Renard Parish. I wasn't used to managing without satnav and a couple of wrong turns had me cursing, but I found it at the third attempt. For the first time I was glad I wasn't driving the 'Vette as it would have looked out of place amongst the pick-up Trucks and beaten up old sedans. The Hyundai fitted right in, dings and all.

I'd never actually been to a Walmart before so it took a while to navigate and find everything I wanted. It all came as quite a shock, I hadn't realised there were so many badly-dressed people in the world, or so many overweight ones. Maybe that was why I was drawn to the checkout queue where a pretty blonde girl stood at the end of the line. She was maybe five-six tall, one hundred and twenty pounds, and every single one of those pounds was in the right place. Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and she wore a tight white t-shirt and black shorts.

'Great butt,' I thought, admiring her curves. I must have gotten in too close without realising it, as she turned and glared at me, knocking a box of Fruit Loops to the floor.

"I'm sorry, let me…" I offered, but she just scowled and bent down to pick it up. I wasn't complaining as I got a front view every bit as attractive as the rear had been.

I flashed what I considered my most winning smile, but it had no effect and she just scowled even harder. She opened her mouth to speak, but then obviously thought better of it and closed it firmly.

Maybe it was my work clothes. I had to admit I wasn't a pretty sight, stained and smelly after a hard day's work. Next time I'd shower and change before I left home. Not that the checkout girl seemed to mind, she smiled and simpered as she rang up my order.

"That'll be eighty-five dollars, Sir."

I gulped; I only had fifty in cash. I pulled out my Amex card and handed it over to the girl. She looked impressed, but only briefly. Her expression quickly changed to one of concern.

"I'm sorry Sir, your card has been rejected."

I extracted my Mastercard, only to have the same procedure repeated.

"_That bastard_," I cursed silently. Dad had obviously had my cards stopped – he was the guarantor so he had the power to do that. That, and the name change made me realise he must have put some planning into this – it was no spur of the moment decision.

"Okay, I'll put couple of things back." Premium brand coffee beans and fresh orange juice were luxuries I wouldn't be able to afford at least for a while.

A queue was forming behind me. I could hear an overweight middle-aged woman muttering loudly. I caught the odd word, obviously aimed at me: 'rude, disrespectful.' Ignoring her, I handed over most of my cash and strolled out of the store, trying to look unconcerned, even though I was burning up with humiliation inside.

The red 'tank empty' light came on when I was a good ten miles outside Bon Temps, and the engine started to make a strange knocking noise. I took no notice; just put my foot on the gas in the hope of making it go away. That was a mistake, and less than a mile later the car spluttered to a halt.

Shit, I thought, my day really was complete now. I got out and surveyed the tree-lined road. It was quiet and I'd only passed a couple of cars coming the other way; there was no telling how long I'd have to wait. Aiming a kick and a few choice curses at the old car, I set off to trudge back to Bon Temps, even though I barely had enough strength left to put one foot in front of another. I briefly contemplated lying down and sleeping underneath a tree, but who knew what sort of animals lurked out this way. Besides, I'd seen 'Deliverance' - that didn't help my prejudices about country folk any.

I was still cursing under my breath when he heard a vehicle slow down behind him. To my immense relief it was a black pick-up truck with a familiar pattern of pink swirls. I had honestly never been quite so grateful to see anyone as I was to see my workmate.

"Hey man, is there a problem?" Jason asked, innocently.

I bit back a sarcastic response. "My old wreck just died on me, or ran out of gas, whatever," I retorted with a nod backwards up the road.

"Shit, was that old Hyundai yours? I thought it had been dumped," Jason laughed.

"I wish it had been, but it's the only car I've got right now," I replied, bitterly.

Jason looked at me oddly as he reached over to open the passenger seat. "Hop in, man, we can take you back to Bon Temps and I'll get Tray Dawson to come out and look at the car for you. He can fix just 'bout anything."

That was when I realised that Jason wasn't alone in his truck. Sitting next to him was the blonde girl from the Walmart queue. Her expression made it clear that she recognised me, but she didn't smile. That was probably for the best, if she was Jason Stackhouse's girl.

"This is my sister, Sookie," Jason introduced us, "Sookie, this is Eric Beaumont, he's working with us on the road crew," from his tone of voice he obviously expected his sister to be impressed, but she wasn't.

"I think we've met," she replied, curtly.

I couldn't think of any response to that so he said nothing. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't help my gaze from trailing down to her bare legs. Her skin was creamy soft and golden, and I felt a twitch in his fingers as I imagined running them up her inner thighs. Closing my eyes I could just picture those long legs wrapped around his hips. I took a deep breath in an effort to control myself.

"Will you quit that," her accent might be sweet as sugar, but she was clearly pissed and looked a little flushed. She gave me a hard poke him with her elbow, seemingly trying to create some space between us. In response I squeezed myself sideways against the door. Perhaps I had gotten just a bit too close. Hitting on my new workmate's sister probably wasn't a good idea, however tempting.

I was so focused on the girl that it was several minutes before I remembered the original purpose of my trip out of town. "Shit, I forgot my groceries, I left them in the trunk."

Jason immediately offered to turn round and pick them up, but he was interrupted by his sister,

"Jason, I have to get home. I told you I've only got half an hour before my shift starts." She made no effort to hide her irritation.

I had to smile; I could almost see the cogs in Jason's brain turning as he tried to work out what to do without pissing off either his sister or his new workmate.

Finally something clicked and a broad grin erupted on his face. "No problem man, I'll drop Sookie home, then if you don't mind waiting with her I can go back for your groceries."

"That's no problem…" I began. I was on the verge of pointing out that it would be easier if I just drove back with Jason, but spending a little time with his sister was a much more attractive option, so I accepted the offer. Perhaps I could get her thinking a bit better of me.

They'd turned off the main road and the truck was rattling its way up a heavily pot-holed drive. An old wooden house came into view. It was badly in need of repairs, that much was obvious from a distance. As they got closer I could see that the paintwork was peeling badly, and it had an old iron roof which most people would have replaced years ago. I wondered why they hadn't; surely they could afford it if they both worked.

As soon as we stopped, I jumped down from the cab with as much grace as I could manage and held out a hand to help Sookie down. She ignored me and swung herself down from the handle above the passenger door. I watched as she trotted up the steps to the front door, admiring the swing of her hips. It was a shame she seemed determined to be hostile, I thought as I followed her into the house.

"It's a lovely place you've got here," I said as he sat at the battered old kitchen table watching her unpack her groceries. It might be shabby, with not a hint of the stylish, modern décor his father's architect designed place boasted, but he could feel that this house had love in it.

"There's no need to be sarcastic," she shot back.

"I wasn't being sarcastic, I meant it." I was hurt that she didn't believe me. "I like that it feels lived in, it's a real home."

Sookie stood, hands on hips, looking at me.

"Are you okay?" I asked, as I noticed a brief but unmistakeable flash of sadness cross her face. I'd obviously said something wrong; I just wished I knew what.

"I'm fine. Look, I'm sorry not to be more hospitable, but I have to eat and get off to work."

I noticed that her T-shirt had a small logo on it, and looking more closely it spelled out the name 'Merlotte's'.

"Is that Sam Merlotte?" he asked, "he's my landlord."

"Yes, I work at his bar, as a waitress."

"Nice guy?"

"I guess," Sookie's tone, and the set of her jaw made it clear she had no desire to prolong the conversation.

Reluctantly I stood up. Maybe I'd have better luck when she was feeling less stressed, but I knew enough about women not to push it now. "I'll let you get on; I can wait outside for Jason."

She was adjusting the microwave to heat a ready meal and didn't even look at me as I stepped out onto the porch. I didn't have long to wait for Jason to return with my groceries, and a message that he'd called Tray Dawson, the local car mechanic, who was right now sorting out my car. I winced at that, knowing that I didn't have the money to pay him, but I'd worry about that tomorrow. Right now I, all I wanted was a shower, a pizza and a good night's sleep.

The sun was setting behind the trees as Jason dropped me back at my apartment, for the second and hopefully last time that day. As I walked up the steps I almost tripped over a stoneware casserole dish, which had been left right in front of the mesh outer door. A note was attached, obviously a woman's handwriting: '_I thought you might be hungry'._ I was, too hungry even to think about which woman might have left it for me.

_**Thanks to FiniteAnarchy, hdgcat, B-Rock Beer525, Treewitch 703, Azucar69, Charhamblin, and especially Kleannhouse, who all gave really helpful feedback on wages, accommodation costs and prices of essentials for the original version of this chapter. **_


	3. Wednesday

**Eric - Wednesday Evening**

Tuesday and Wednesday followed the same monotonous pattern as Monday. There was no let-up in the heat or humidity as our crew made its slow progress, filling in potholes and resurfacing.

"You're doing okay, man," Jason noted as he dropped me off after our third day's work. I had the feeling Jason could be a good liar when he wanted to be, but there seemed to be a hint of genuine admiration.

"You think?"

"Sure thing. You know I found it real hard when I first started with the crew. I thought I was fit – I'd been a star quarterback y'know, but Catfish, he's a real tough guy. The bigger you think you are, the more he'll make sure to bring you down to earth."

"Maybe he's going easy on me," I joked.

Jason regarded me with a serious expression. "Now you mention it, I think maybe he is. Either that or he's finally mellowing after all these years."

That got me keen to change the subject. "So was the Road Crew the job you always wanted?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "Gran always reckoned I could do better, but by Bon Temps standards the Parish Road Crew's a pretty good job. There's steady work, it pays above the minimum wage, and it's got health care."

"You don't see many old guys on the crew though," I noted. "How old is Catfish anyway?"

"Forty-seven, maybe forty-eight," Jason replied with a frown, as if he'd never considered it before. "I know he looks older, but that's on account of his drinking – you've never seen a guy who can put away bourbon like he can."

"I guess that's what makes him so mean," I laughed.

The corners of Jason's eyes crinkled up as a genuine smile lit up his face. People always laugh at my jokes, but mostly with the parts of their faces they can force. It came as a surprise that the good opinion of my workmates actually mattered to me, but somehow it did. In Shreveport it was taken for granted that I was leader of the pack. I didn't have to work at it. Dad was one of the richest men in town, and with my looks I had the greatest pulling power of all my friends, and I accepted their admiration as a right.

Out here I got the feeling people judged you differently. Sure, I could have boasted about how rich my family was, the size of my house, and my fancy car, but quite apart from the many awkward questions that would raise, it just didn't seem right.

"How you settling in to the neighbourhood anyway?"

"Fine, everyone seems very friendly."

"Yeah, you bet they are." Jason gave a very dirty laugh.

I looked at him, waiting for some kind of explanation.

"Oh come on, man," he continued, "don't pretend you haven't noticed. According to Maxine Fortenberry there isn't a woman in town who's not talking about how to get a date with you."

That had to be an exaggeration, and I told him so. I knew for a fact at least one woman who was showing no interest at all in me, unfortunately. That was a regret I didn't share with him.

"Why the ladies of Bon Temps are thinking all their Christmases have come at once. First Bill Compton, now you."

"Bill Compton?"

"Yeah, he's a vamper you know, but I guess he's okay," Jason didn't sound completely convinced. "His family was from round here – some of them still are. He lives just across the cemetery from my sister. Gran loved him, on account of him having fought in the war, and once she'd introduced him to the Descendants, that was pretty much his ticket into town."

I was surprised to hear that Bon Temps had a vampire resident. Most vamps I knew of liked the anonymity of city life. Small towns could be dangerous places for anyone who was different.

We'd turned into the street where my small duplex was located. A tall brunette jogged by in Lycra shorts that showed off a neat ass, and a low cut vest top which perfectly displayed a very fine pair of breasts. I'd seen her out about the same time for the last few nights. She slowed as she obviously recognised Jason's truck.

"Hi Jase," she flashed a brilliant white smile, which seemed to get even brighter as her gaze met mine.

"See what I mean," Jason muttered as she headed on down the road, "the last time Dee-Anne did any regular exercise was when she was in the High School cheerleading team. Now anyone would think she was training for a marathon."

I wasn't sure what he was getting at, but I gave a 'good buddy' laugh and he seemed satisfied with that.

Later that night I sat out on the porch, slowly drinking the last can from a four-pack of beer and thinking about my dwindling supply of groceries. Every muscle in my body ached, and I was more exhausted than I had ever been in my life. Any positive feelings I'd had earlier had evaporated. For now, I could not have cared less about what the townsfolk thought about me. My only emotion was hatred of Dad for landing me in this situation.

What really pissed me off was my total lack of control. I'd got Jason to drive me to the bank at lunch-time, only to be informed that my checking account was empty. I had no idea how Dad had managed it, although I guessed that being a member of the same golf club as one of the senior Executives of First Louisiana Bank might have helped. I'd have nothing until I got paid. There was no word from Dad on how long he intended my punishment to last.

I had been grateful to find, for the third evening in a row, a casserole dish on my porch containing a delicious smelling pork and bean stew. I'd finally mastered the oven. I'd overcooked Monday night's meal so badly that it was impossible to tell what it had originally been, while on Tuesday I'd been lucky not to give myself food poisoning with a lukewarm chicken casserole.

The mystery of where they came from was solved when the young red-headed girl from over the way knocked shyly on my door.

"Mom says could she have her casserole dishes back," she asked, staring at her feet the whole time.

I hadn't washed them, just left them piled up in my sink. At home, I had Luna to clean up after me; I guess I'd got too used to that.

"They were delicious," I said as I handed back the dirty dishes. "Please thank your Mom for me, I really do appreciate it." That at least was true, if it was a choice between frozen pizza and a home-cooked meal I'd take southern cooking any time.

I hadn't given a lot of thought to who might have left the meals, and whether they expected anything in return. Now I put two and two together. I'd seen a middle aged, red-headed woman coming in and out of the house across the street. She seemed to keep odd hours and to leave the two kids, who I assumed were hers, alone a lot. As the little girl trotted back across the street, her Mom stepped out and gave me a coy wave.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to be accepting food from her; tomorrow night I'd go back to frozen pizza. It's a very odd feeling, not being sure where your next meal is going to come from, but I had no choice. After my fruitless trip to the bank he'd been forced to borrow a hundred dollars from a reluctant Jason to tide me over and, as I was now car-less, if I needed food I would have to rely on the small Grabbit-Qwik convenience store I'd noticed on the way home.

Tray Dawson had called round the previous night to report that he had fixed the Hyundai. It had a leak in the fuel line which explained why it had run out of gas so quickly, but he'd also found that one of the brake shoes was dangerously worn, and two of the tires were illegal. With that and a full service he wanted $220 dollars, and was not best pleased when I had to confess that I didn't have the money.

An angry Dawson was genuinely scary – his teeth seemed to grow sharper, and his eyes redder. I honestly thought for a second that he was going to bite me, but there was nothing to be done.

"I'm really sorry man; I wouldn't have got you to do the work if I'd known how much it would cost. If you could just wait until payday…?" I felt the same red wave of humiliation as I'd experienced the other night at the supermarket checkout, but fought it back. Right now, my need was greater than his.

Tray turned on his heel and stalked off down the drive. I swore I could hear him muttering something about 'spoilt, rich kids.' An unexpected memory surfaced. I was back in the small apartment Dad had rented when I was a little boy and Mom was still with us. We'd gone hungry more than one weekend when a customer had been late paying their bills. I wondered if any little Dawsons would have empty bellies on my account.

"Hey man," I shouted after the retreating figure, "I'll make it up to you."

"Yeah, whatever," Tray sneered, not even bothering to turn round.

**Thursday **

It was a tradition that after work on Thursdays, the road crew would meet up for a beer in Merlottes. I'd been avoiding the place, but decided to risk some of my dwindling cash supply to keep in with the guys. I didn't want to get a reputation of being some kind of snob.

I was apprehensive though. The hundred I'd borrowed off Jason wouldn't last long, and I wasn't sure how long he'd have to stretch it until pay-day. The truth was, I just couldn't stand another night alone in that tiny apartment, with only a battered old TV for company. Sam Merlotte was too mean to install cable, and certainly didn't run to luxuries like internet access – not that it would have been any good to me with my Macbook and iPad back in my room in Shreveport.

My mood brightened briefly as I saw Jason's cute sister, but dimmed rapidly as she turned away with just the slightest hint of a scowl. The other waitress was an over-made up woman with dyed red hair. She was all smiles, offering me a seat in her section. It took a few seconds but then it clicked. She was my neighbour and culinary benefactor. Her smile was far too eager – it was almost as terrifying as Tray Dawson's scowl.

"No, thank you, darlin'" I forced a smile. There was no point in pissing her off, even if the thought of being pursued by her was more than a little terrifying. "I'm meetin' up with the guys at the bar." Jason and Hoyt who were already installed and on their first beer of the night.

"What are you drinking, guys?" I asked. Jason ordered a pitcher of Bud from a sullen looking black woman and the three of us headed for a booth.

The clientele of Merlotte's bar was pretty much as I had expected. One table composed a group of overweight middle-aged matrons, who made no effort to disguise the fact that they were gossiping about everyone in the place.

There were a few heavily tattooed guys – bikers or truckers. Handing out with them, around the pool table, was the brunette from my neighbourhood. Tonight she was showing off her assets in low slung, tight jeans and a skimpy shirt, unbuttoned and tied at the waist to reveal a hint of red lacy bra. She grinned broadly as she caught my eye and gave him a flirty wave. That earned me a dirty look from the biker who'd had her undivided attention up until then.

The only surprise the vampire sitting in a corner booth, alone. I'd had enough dealings with the undead to recognize his unnaturally pale complexion. Besides, the bottle of True Blood in front of him pretty much gave it away. No-one spoke to him, in fact people seemed to be doing their best to pretend that he wasn't really sitting in their midst.

"Dee-Anne seems to have a thing for you," Jason commented, nodding at the brunette over by the pool table.

"Yeah, I've seen her around the neighbourhood. I haven't hit on her or anything – she's not your girl is she?"

Hoyt and Jason shared a good laugh at that. "She's just about anyone's girl," Hoyt commented, although in fact he was one of the few who hadn't shared her favours. "Momma reckons she's the original good time that was had by all." That got them both laughing again, not knowing or caring that the phrase was hardly original.

I glanced back at Dee-Anne. Everything about her screamed cheap, from her clothes to the perfume that could be smelt half-way across the bar, with an unpleasant after-tone of furniture polish. Still, maybe if I got really desperate she would do. It had been five days since I'd last had sex. The longest I'd ever gone since about my fourteenth birthday was seven days.

"So what's with the dead guy?" I changed the subject. "He from round here?"

"That's Bill Compton, he's the one I told you about. You got a problem with vampires?"

"No, I'm cool with them."

"Vampire Bill's okay, I guess. At least Sookie seems to think so."

He was sitting in what must have been Sookie's section. She swayed across the room, balancing a bottle of True Blood and a wine glass on her tray. A hint of a smile lightened the vampire's face briefly, and I couldn't help but notice how his hand brushed hers as she set the drink down in front of him.

At first I couldn't believe that she might be dating him, but the broad smile on her face as she turned away from his table told another story.

Our first pitcher of beer went down quickly, and the second, third and fourth. Paying for drinks with real money was a novelty, and not one I enjoyed. I normally ran a tab in my regular bars and never paid too much attention to how much I was signing off on my Amex card. By the end of the night, my share of four pitchers of beer had set me back nearly twenty dollars.

"When did you say we got paid?" I asked Jason, trying hard to keep my voice casual and not reveal the anxiety which a total lack of ready cash was causing me. All my adult life, I'd never once thought about money or food. They were always just there, provided for me like the sunshine or the air I breathed.

"Friday's payday," Jason responded, sounding puzzled by the question. "We should hit the city on Saturday night, have a few drinks, maybe pick up some girls, whadya say man?"

Not a great idea. The city Jason was thinking of was almost certain to be Shreveport, and I wasn't sure I really wanted to be seen around town, either by Dad or by my buddies there. There was also the problem of money, or lack of it. On the other hand I didn't want my new workmates to think me a killjoy.

"Where were you thinking of?" I asked, cautiously

"I've heard about this vampire bar in Shreveport, apparently it's full of hot chicks every weekend. They can't all pull a vamp, so there should be plenty left for the likes of us – even for Hoyt." Jason gave his buddy a playful thump on the arm.

"Yeah, maybe. I'll let you know. Now I really need to get going, early start and all that. See you in the morning."

The bar was beginning to empty out. Those people who had jobs needed to get up for work, and those that hadn't were running out of cash. Sookie Stackhouse appeared to have given up waiting tables altogether and was sitting with her vampire boyfriend, holding hands surreptitiously under the table, their faces close as they whispered to each other.

I ignored the hopeful looks from Dee-Anne and my waitress neighbour and set off on the walk back to my apartment. Jason offered me a lift, but I needed to clear my head. It wasn't just the beer that was clouding my thoughts; there was something I couldn't quite place, an odd feeling. I was way out of my comfort zone; without my buddies, my possessions, and all the diversions that money could buy and it exposed a lingering dissatisfaction with my life. I just couldn't put my finger on what it was.


	4. Saturday

**Saturday**

The glow of daylight through the thin curtains woke me. I groaned and turned over with a curse, then realized it was Saturday and cuddled back into the sweaty bedding with a sigh. A few hours later I finally came to with that groggy feeling you get from sleeping too long. For the first time in many years though, I didn't have a hangover. I'd spent an unusually quiet Friday night sitting out on the porch, reflecting on the situation in which I found myself. It turned out that the mosquitoes had made quite a meal of me.

Getting up so late reflected the true impact of a week of seriously hard work. Slowly I stretched my aching limbs, wincing at the feel of the synthetic sheets. I was used to Egyptian cotton, freshly laundered and ironed by Luna. Today I was going to have to find out if Bon Temps had a Laundromat, as there was no sign of a washing machine in the apartment.

As luck would have it, just as I struggled down the path with my bag of dirty laundry, the shapely form of Dee-Anne sauntered past. I could have sworn that her eyes lit up as she saw me.

"Why, Mr Beaumont, you surely do look weighed down with that dirty washing, perhaps I could be of some assistance," she drawled, her accent strong and distinctive.

"Thanks but I'm fine," I replied, "I was just going to the Laundromat."

"Now why on earth would you do want to do that, I'd be happy to help out and my place is only just along the way." She looked at me expectantly.

I hesitated, trying to decide which was the lesser of two evils.

"I'll be mighty offended if you don't," Dee-Anne pouted, "and I can make you a mighty fine cup of coffee while you're waiting."

"Thank you, that would be very kind." Even though I knew it was a bad idea, I succumbed to her offer. Sitting in the Laundromat for a couple of hours was guaranteed would leave me feeling only one up from a complete bum. Besides, maybe she was just being neighborly, that was what small town folks were like.

Dee-Anne kept up an incessant chatter as we walked the two blocks to her apartment. Luckily for me she didn't seem to require much more than the occasional 'uh-huh' to prove that I was listening. By the time they arrived I'd heard more than I needed to know about Arlene over the way and her numerous husbands, including the one who'd tried to kill Sookie Stackhouse on account of her being too friendly with the 'vampers'.

I set down his bag in the living room and took a seat on her small fake leather couch. Dee-Anne headed into the kitchen.

"Can I get you a coffee, or maybe something stronger?"

"Coffee would be fine."

As she bustled about in the kitchen I took in the apartment. The layout was very similar to my place, but the décor was quite different. It was obvious that Dee-Anne was a big fan of pink, lace and frills. The overall effect reminded me of a cheap whore-house I'd once visited in New Orleans.

Dee-Anne returned with his coffee and made sure to bend right over him as she set the mug down on the side table, giving me a very good look at her ample breasts. She took her time straightening up as well. I guess she was hoping that I would be impressed.

Male instincts won over good taste as I felt a twinge of lust. I like my women curvy – I had no use for the stick-thin supermodel type of woman. Also, for me a week was a long time to go without sex. Still, I steeled myself to resist, knowing full well that if I made a move on her, she would be only too ready to accept, even at eleven thirty on a Saturday morning.

I took in a slow breath and fixed my attention on a particularly tasteless china ornamental poodle. Dee-Anne wasn't deterred. She looked me up and down, almost ready to lick her lips. Picking up my bag of laundry she sauntered into the kitchen and, bending over from the waist, slowly loaded up her machine.

Her Daisy Duke shorts left very little to the imagination, and I felt the need to examine the rug very closely. In other circumstances a quick '_wham bam, thank you ma'am_' would have suited me very well, but this was a small town and I had enough sense to know how quickly word would get around. Besides, living just down the street I wouldn't be able to get away from her. I was best keeping my jeans firmly zipped.

"So how are you finding Bon Temps?" she asked, as she returned with her coffee and curled up in the easy chair, tucking her legs under her. She'd undone a couple more buttons on her blouse so that her red lace bra was clearly visible.

"It's fine," I forced a smile, "everyone seems very friendly."

"Oh we sure are; it's real neighborly It must seem very dull to you compared to Shreveport. I mean I do like it here, but I'd much rather live in the city." Her face lit up at the thought.

Keen to change the subject away from myself, I asked if she'd lived in Bon Temps her whole life. As I'd expected, that triggered a long monologue taking her family history back at least three generations. A few more well-chosen questions about her, admittedly limited, ambitions in life got me safely through the whole wash cycle.

"I really must be going, I have to pick up some groceries, and clean my apartment."

"I could do that for you, if you like," she leant forward eagerly, giving me another eyeful.

"No honestly, I'm good. I really appreciate you doing my washing, I couldn't impose any more."

"Well if you're sure…" she trailed off, sounding disappointed. "How about I dry your things, I could iron them and drop them round later."

I opened my mouth to refuse, but somehow, "thanks that would be cool," popped out instead.

When I got back to my apartment, the small red-headed girl was sitting on the step. Raising her head, but not meeting my eyes, she gabbled out her errand. "Mom sent me to ask you if you needed any laundry doing. She says Sam Merlotte's too cheap to give his tenants a washing machine."

"That is really kind of her, please say thank you, but I'm fine."

I shut the apartment door and leant against it with a sigh. It was all very well having women fighting to do my chores, but what they might want in return didn't bear thinking about.

Inside it was hot and steamy, even with all the windows open. A noisy ceiling fan juddered round but made little impact on the humidity. I didn't dare sit outside, fearing that both Dee-Anne and her older rival would pounce on me. For a minute I had the terrifying image of a threesome with the two of them.

Pacing into the kitchen, I surveyed his empty fridge. Back in the living room I flicked aimlessly through the limited range of TV channels. 'Welfare TV,' my friends would have mocked.

A normal Saturday would have found me lounging round the pool sharing a few beers with my buddies, or, if the weather was bad, watching movies or playing computer games in the den. If we had the house to ourselves we might liven things up with a few lines of coke or some weed. The weekends passed quickly, even if I was often left with only the haziest memories of how I'd spent the time. In this new life, time passed so slowly I could hardly bear it.

Finally I decided I would have to go out even with the risk of bumping into Dee-Anne or Arlene. I hadn't had the energy to explore the limited delights which Bon Temps might offer during the week, so now was as good a time as any.

The smell of cinnamon caught me off guard as I strolled down the main street of the small town. I was transported back to my five-year old self, living in Sweden with Grandma. She had used to bake cinnamon buns every Saturday, and licking the bowl clean had been my favorite treat.

I deliberately switched into Swedish in my thoughts was still thinking in Swedish as I approached the Town Library, trying to recreate the feeling of safety and security I'd experienced in that big old farmhouse with Grandma's unconditional love enveloping me. So engrossed I didn't immediately notice the slender blonde figure who entered the building only a few moments before me, who was now standing at the counter returning three hardback novels.

I caught my breath at the sight of her high pony-tail, and cut-off denim shorts. Out of the blue I was reminded of Natalie Nordstrom, my best friend when I'd started school. Along with Grandma, she had been the person I'd most missed when Dad insisted he return to America to complete my education in the US.

The occasional check on Facebook had shown that Natalie had grown to be a beautiful woman, maybe taller than the girl in front of me, but with the same curvaceous figures. She was married now, to one of his cousins, but we still kept in touch. I sometimes wished I'd been able to defy Dad and stay with my Swedish family, but as a twelve-year old I didn't have that much choice, and when Grandma had broken her hip in a fall and had to move in with Aunt Adela my fate was pretty much sealed.

Thoughts of one woman were pushed out by the sight of another. A familiar blonde figure was jogging up the steps to the town library, clutching a parcel of books. It seemed as good a place to go as any, so I followed her in.

Bon Temps hadn't struck me as an intellectual hotbed, so I wasn't surprised to find only two other patrons in the library – an elderly man at one table and an equally aged lady at another. A matronly black woman sat behind the desk, stamping a pile of books. The fiction section was right next to the desk so I sauntered over to check out the limited collection.

Sookie didn't react to my presence. The librarian, Mrs Beck according to her name-tag, had launched into a long, voluble and rather complicated story of how someone called Maxine Fortenberry had snubbed her, and how she was sure the woman was a racist, and didn't Sookie think that she gave herself airs when she was really just trailer trash. Sookie's face creased into a frown of concentration which seemed unnecessarily serious for the triviality of the conversation.

She almost bumped into me as she made her excuses to Mrs Beck and turned to hurry away.

"I'm sorry, Mr Beaumont, I didn't realize it was you."

I didn't react immediately, but when I realized she was talking to me, I found it hard to shake a sense of disappointment that she was so obviously unimpressed. I tried to shrug it off; my rational self knew that I was being unreasonable. It was just that I was used to most women thinking I was God's gift to their sex.

Unfortunately Sookie had what appeared to be her obligatory look of disgust whenever I was in her vicinity. I wished I knew what it was I'd done to upset her.

She didn't bother with a goodbye as she hurried out of the library, leaving me to the tender mercies of Mrs Beck, who explained patiently that their budget didn't run to the latest Michael Connolly, but she had a section of old John Grisham if that was any good to me. I completed the formalities and emerged with a couple of dog-eared paperbacks. If this was how poor people had to live their lives, I wondered how on earth they could bear it.

Back at the small apartment, with no cable, no internet, no money and no drugs I was at a loss for how to entertain myself, and settled for lying back down on my bed. I must have dozed off, as I came too with a start at the sound of hammering on the door.

"Hey man," it was Jason, "isn't it time you got yourself a cellphone."

I shrugged. That was only one of the things I was missing.

"So, you coming out with us tonight?"

Jason was looking at me expectantly; I forced my features into a false smile. "You know I've got no transport," I offered, fully aware how weak my excuse was.

"No problem, Hoyt can drive, he's not much of a drinker."

"I am a bit short on cash, just until payday you know." My throat dried and I felt my stomach clench with the humiliation of the admission.

"Hey man, don't you go worrying about that. Me an' Hoyt will sub you if we need to."

That pretty much exhausted my store of excuses so I agreed that they would pick me up about eight.

Dee-Anne turned up with a freshly ironed basket of washing just in time to provide me with my one good pair of jeans and a smart black polo shirt. Unfortunately, she caught me fresh out of the shower with nothing but a small towel wrapped around my waist, and my hair still dripping down my back.

I was very glad that I couldn't read minds as I had a pretty shrewd idea what was going on in hers – the look on her face suggested she'd be quite happy to rip the towel off and jump me right there and then.

It took every ounce of charm I could summon up to convince her that I was committed to a guy's night out with Jason and Hoyt, and I was real sorry that I couldn't invite her along. She managed to extract a promise that I'd come out for a picnic with her tomorrow afternoon. I would worry about how to get out of that nearer the time.


	5. Introducing Pamela Ravenscroft

_**Thank you for reading the story so far and for your kind feedback. This is a short chapter but there will be more soon - it's taken me a very long time to get this story back on track, but I'm determined to finish it - I do apologise for mistakes with American phrases and culture though - feel free to point them out.**_

* * *

><p>Introducing Pamela Ravenscroft<p>

I stopped briefly to look in the mirror and adjust the black leather bustier. The patrons liked a hint of cleavage, but I was always careful never to reveal too much. And yes, since you're wondering, vampires can see our reflections just as well as any human.

It was precisely nine pm when I stepped out of the back office. I'd spent the time since nightfall dealing with my Area 5 Sheriff's business. There were nights, and this was one of them, when I wondered whatever had possessed me to accept the role. I was equally mystified as to why Sophie-Ann had offered it me. There was certainly no love lost between us. The Queen of Louisiana was a controlling bitch, her smile as false as the acrylic French manicure she favoured.

She'd been at her insincere best when she'd called me soon after sun-down, all "daahling, it's been sooo long," and how she couldn't wait any longer for us to catch up. I knew she must have an ulterior motive – I just couldn't work out what it could be. For the most part we kept well clear of each other. Northern Louisiana was a backwater, and I did my best to keep things quiet

Just occasionally I'd catch a hint of my long-dead father. "Be straight with them and they'll be straight with you," was what he'd always said about his customers. It was over two-hundred years since I'd been taken from him, but I had a quiet hankering that he'd have been proud of my business and political acumen.

Sophie-Anne did have an excuse for a visit, as there were a number of new vampires who'd moved into my Area from the mid-west and had yet to swear fealty to her.

It wasn't a big deal; none of them could possibly be a threat to her power. They were exactly the kind of vampires you'd expect to want to live in the backwaters of rural America. It was just unfortunate that rural America wasn't too happy with them as neighbours.

One of the Queen's minions had e-mailed me a list of people to invite. She was obviously expecting me to put on a formal show, and that would mean getting some human donors for her and her entourage. It would be a challenge – her standards were high and nothing but perfect physical specimens would satisfy her.

That was playing on my mind as I checked the proposed guest list. There was one name that surprised me: Bill Compton. I recognised the name – he'd checked in with me once and I knew he was living in a small town up near the state border. He never came into Shreveport, never had much to do with anyone in the vampire community. What puzzled me was that I could have sworn I'd seen him before, at Sophie-Ann's court in New Orleans. If that was true – and I have an excellent memory for faces – why did the Queen need him to swear fealty to her?

I put the thought out of my mind - I had no time for her court politics. She was coming in less than a week, and I needed to recruit some entertainment worthy of her.

"Good crowd tonight, ma'am," Ginger's high pitched southern drawl greeted me.

I scowled my disapproval, with just a hint of fang for emphasis, but it was lost on my brain-addled waitress. Ginger had worked at Fangtasia since it opened, she'd seen a lot of things and she knew where the bodies were buried. Luckily she didn't remember any of it, but too many glamourings had left her brain as full of holes as a Swiss cheese.

One of the misguided reasons for agreeing to take on the job of sheriff was that I thought it would help my business interests, but as I surveyed the sparse crowd, I reflected just how wrong I'd been.

I'd put so much of myself into Fangtasia and it pained me to see that it hadn't worked out as I'd planned. Things had started out so well. When we opened, right after the great Revelation, it had been the hippest place in town. The bright young things of Shreveport's social scene had made it their essential destination for a hot night out.

Trouble was, my success didn't go unnoticed. Rivals soon came to challenge my crown. I'd managed to see off one group of vampires from Arkansas who'd opened a club in Bossier City. It had burned down in mysterious circumstances, and the insurance had refused to pay out, forcing them to try their luck in Jackson instead.

My most recent rival had been a different matter. Despite all my contacts, I had no idea who was behind the Rednote Club. What had been made clear was that the venture was under the personal protection of the Queen of Louisiana and that meant there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

Fangtasia still had a good trade from tourists and younger fangbangers - the less sophisticated ones. It would have been enough for most people, most vampires perhaps, but not me. My pride was hurt, and for a vampire that was a deadly serious matter.

I surveyed the crowd with a weary fake smile. "Any problems tonight?"

"Naw," drawled Ginger, "a couple of fake ID's but Longshadow spotted them straight away so they didn't get served." Her face lit up as she said his name – it was pathetic. Surely the poor deluded thing knew she wasn't the only one he fed on, and fucked, in his coffin out back. Still, I didn't employ her for her brains, or her judgement.

"We're not exactly attracting the beautiful people though, are we?" I looked her up and down trying not to roll my eyes at the sight of what looked very much like a nurse's outfit made for a low budget porno movie. It was zippered down almost to the navel, allowing her silicone-enhanced breasts to try to stage an escape bid, but the seductive impact was spoiled by her scrawny arms and legs. Spending too much time in the company of vampires had ruined her appetite.

Ginger blushed. She brushed down the front of her red plastic micro-skirt and looked around the room for a diversion.

"Those guys are hot, pity there aren't more like them," she observed, looking towards the door.

I turned and followed her gaze. There were three of them: a tall drop-dead gorgeous blond who looked oddly familiar; a shorter blond guy with tousled hair and boyish charm; and a third who was of no interest to me at all. Any consideration of who the tall guy might be was interrupted by the sound of raised voices and the sight of what was clearly an altercation at the door.

I strode over to sort things out. It was a shame, I thought for at least the hundredth time, that sheriffs couldn't veto the vampires who settled in their area. Thalia had no manners, no finesse, and was quite the wrong person to have on door duty when the inevitable gang of drunken grunts from Bossier City airbase turned up. A quick but powerful burst of glamour had sent them on their way none the wiser allowing me to focus on the earlier object of my attention.

The tallest of the three reminded me strongly of Eric Northman. He'd been a regular at Fangtasia a couple of years back, till The Rednote had become more fashionable and he'd transferred his allegiance. Something wasn't quite right about him though; the Eric Northman I knew always sported a perfect light tan, and expensive designer clothes. The man in front of me looked as if he'd spent the last few months toiling in the sun, and had purchased his wardrobe from Walmart.

It would certainly be a turn up if it was Northman. Surely there couldn't be two men in Shreveport that tall, that blond, and that good-looking. I may swing the other way now, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate handsome when it's right in front of me.

Against my better judgement, I decided to consult Longshadow. "Do you recognise that guy?" I asked.

"Not exactly your type surely, Pam," my partner snickered.

"It's Sheriff Ravenscroft to you," I snapped back. I'd brought Longshadow into the business as junior partner with some reluctance and she liked to make sure he remembered his place. "Anyway, I'm not thinking of myself. He might be useful to us next time the lovely Sophie-Anne visits with us."

A broad smile formed on Longshadow's face, which was quickly wiped off as I leant across the bar and squeezed his throat, hard. "She's our Queen, show some respect."

"Let them run up a tab," I instructed the bartender, "and make sure you only serve them premium brands. Oh, and find out their names and where they're from."

Longshadow shrugged. He knew we didn't normally allow humans credit at Fangtasia, but he wasn't stupid enough to ask what was different about these.

I continued to watch out for signs of trouble as the club filled slowly. My mind was already whirring away. I could think of one very obvious use for both the blonds. If the taller one was indeed Eric Northman there was another issue I wanted to raise with him. I needed to find out more.

I smiled as all three men unconsciously sucked in their stomachs when they saw me approach them across the small dance-floor. Two were disappointed though, as it was the tallest of the three who got my attention.


	6. Saturday night

_**I've rated this story as 'T' - it's not going to be steamy so I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. However this chapter does contain a scene of a sexual nature (as they say in the movies) - I think its relatively tame but let me know if you disagree.**_

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><p>Saturday Night – Eric<p>

"Wow, this place is cool," Hoyt was awestruck as he surveyed the room.

I tried and failed to supress a smile; Merlottes' didn't exactly set a high standard, but I had to admit the vampire nightclub wasn't anywhere near as tacky as I remembered.

The booths were upholstered in real leather and swathed in red velvet. The bar was mirrored from floor to ceiling, disproving immediately the idea that you couldn't see a vampire reflection. Drinks were served from a slab of black granite set on a base of imported English oak.

Unfortunately the clientele were a hell of a lot less stylish than the setting. It was full of vampire groupies, male and female, and I knew that all of them would be ready to submit to any humiliation just to attract the favours of the few genuine undead scattered around the place.

Hoyt's face was a picture – a combination of confusion, fear and lust as he surveyed the girls in their leather and lace, most of them making sure to reveal as much as possible of their best assets.

"Hey man, you better shut your mouth before you catch a fly," Jason laughed at his best buddy's awestruck expression.

"What's the big deal," I pitched in, dismissively. "I've dated vampire chicks before. Anyway, why do you think they're in here, if not to pick up guys?"

The big man wasn't listening to me. He was transfixed by the sight in front of him; a slim but voluptuous vampire with long, white-blonde hair, whose black leather bustier and tight velvet skirt seemed at odds with her translucent pale skin and bright blue eyes.

"My, my, what have we here?" she purred, in an exaggerated Louisiana drawl. "It's always such a pleasure to greet new patrons, especially such handsome young men."

I didn't miss the undercurrent of menace in her voice, but if I was worried I didn't let it show. I acknowledged her greeting with a nod.

"Please do introduce me to your friends," she continued smoothly.

"Why surely, the pleasure is all mine," I slipped easily into the schmoozing mode I practised with my father's clients and their wives. "This is Jason Stackhouse, and Hoyt Fortenberry."

Jason gave Pam his trademark crooked smile, the one that appeared to send girls in Bon Temps weak at the knees. She showed no reaction, but appeared to sniff the air around him delicately.

"Very pleased to meet you, Ma'am." Hoyt stuck out a hand in a polite greeting, but withdrew it, going bright red, as Pam glared at him disdainfully. She didn't bother looking at him again.

Jason held her attention for longer. She let her gaze linger for a few moments before turning her attention back to me. I waited for her next words, but before she could speak again something on the other side of the room attracted her attention: she turned and silently glided away.

Jason gave Hoyt a playful thump on the shoulder. "What do you think, could she be the one you've been saving yourself for?"

Hoyt's insistence on 'saving himself' for the right woman was a source of constant amusement to him.

"I don't know Jase, she looks kind of scary to me. She seemed kinda hot for you though."

I was tempted to laugh at his naivety, but that would have been cruel. Still, Jason and I exchanged a 'men of the world' kind of look, which only spurred him on to greater heights of boasting.

"Fifty dollars says I can get her on her knees." He rolled his shoulders back in a cocky swagger.

Hoyt gave him a dubious look. "Are you sure that's wise, man. Didn't you hear what happened to that guy over in Monroe – had a vamp give him a bj and she bit his dick off!"

Jason and I rolled our eyes. Hoyt was so gullible; he believed everything he read in the paper. It was just the kind of story the Fellowship put out to deter guys from hanging out with vamps.

"Whad'ya say, Beaumont? She spoke to you first so maybe that gives you a head start, but she seemed kinda taken with me," Jason smirked.

"Fine, Fifty it is." I agreed. I didn't have fifty dollars to lose, but I'd tried it on with the owner of Fangtasia before and got nowhere. I'd let Jason have the first shot, confident that he wouldn't be any more successful.

I didn't feel entirely comfortable at the way my new buddies were treating vampires as if they were some kind of freak show at the County Fair. Fangtasia had that effect on people, with its coach parties and its tacky memorabilia. I knew better. I had dated a vampire once, briefly, when they'd first come out of the coffin and it had been considered very daring.

The sex had been amazing. I'd never met a woman with such stamina; she could have taken on all three of us and worn us out. She hadn't cared whether I called her or not, and had openly flirted with other guys in front of me. When I discovered she was also fucking two of my buddies, I drew the line. Maybe I was being a hypocrite: I'd two-timed girls before. Thing was, the rules were different for men.

All three of us gave a collective jump as Pamela Ravenscroft appeared unexpectedly in front of us. I could never quite get over the way vampires could move so fast. I wondered if she'd overheard any of our conversation. Something about the look on her face suggested that she might have done.

"I was hoping for a little word with you," she addressed herself to me, ignoring the others. "Won't you please come to my office?" She gave a crocodile smile and turned sharply on her red Louboutin heel.

I sauntered after her across the dance floor and out to the back office, pausing briefly to turn and give a triumphant wink to Jason and Hoyt.

Any suggestion that I might win the bet was quickly dispelled by the change in her attitude as soon as the door shut behind us. She didn't invite me to sit, as she sprawled elegantly in the oversized leather executive chair.

"Mr….Beaumont?" She stared at me intensely, leaving an exaggerated pause between the two words.

I'm a good liar, but the way her eyes bored into my face had me biting my lip like a naughty child. Too late I tried to turn away, but she had me in her grip. My head started to buzz, as if someone was pushing an electric charge through it. I fought for a scrap of control.

"It's no big deal, just an alternative i.d. I work with those guys but I'd rather they didn't know my real name."

I thought she was going to try to drag the truth out of me; I know if she'd tried I wouldn't have been able to resist, but she looked away abruptly and began to examine her manicured red nails.

"I have a warning for you, or rather for your father," her tone was mild, but her meaning quite clearly anything but.

"I…" I stammered. I was on the verge of admitting that Dad and I weren't exactly on speaking terms, then decided better of it. "I'll make sure he gets it," I continued, sounding as firm as I could, under the circumstances.

"Tell him he can't expect to play on both teams without getting hurt."

I said nothing, but waited for further explanation. Silence dragged for seconds, while Pam regarded me suspiciously.

"My sources tell me he's going after that big Fellowship contract, for their new church over Monroe way." She paused to wait for confirmation.

"Well, I'm not sure…" admitted cautiously.

"Good, because if he takes it on, he can say goodbye to any more vampire business and I'm sure you realise that we have more money and a lot more staying power."

For the first time in over a week, I felt really good. It seemed I'd inadvertently done Dad a favour. He might have been pissed at my loose morals losing the Fellowship contract, but in the long run working for the vamps was a far better proposition. It would be worth every day of deprivation I'd suffered in Bon Temps if he ever discovered the truth.

"I'll be sure to let him know. You can rely on me to make sure he sees sense, Mizz Ravenscroft."

"Oh really," she sounded doubtful.

Something about her tone made me nervous. Underestimating her was a big mistake. She knew who I was, and I wondered how much she really knew about my new life in Bon Temps.

She stepped in close and tilted her head to fix her gaze firmly on my eyes. I tried to look away but once again, I was too slow. My head started to throb as she probed inside.

"Aww, poor little baby boy," she had a nasty smile on her face as she stroked my cheek with her cold fingers, "did Dadda throw you out then?"

Then, reverting from an exaggerated Southern drawl to a sinister version of her normal tone, she continued, "you really should know better than to try to hide things from me, Mr Northman."

"Look, I said I'd get a message to him and I will; one way or another."

"Fine, now tell me about your companions."

"I'm working out in a small town called Bon Temps. You probably don't know it, it's right up Highway 50 just inside the State line."

She kept her face blank and waited.

"Jason Stackhouse – he's the good looking one – and Hoyt Fortenberry work with me on the Road Crew."

Pam tried and failed to supress a laugh. "You, Eric Northman, working on the road crew," she snorted.

"Why not," I shot back defiantly, "real work is nothing to be ashamed of." Surprisingly, I managed to convince myself that I meant it.

The vampire shook her head, her pale shoulders shaking with laughter. I turned to leave.

"Where do you think you're going, you haven't been dismissed. Besides, isn't there a little matter of your wager?"

"Oh shit," I muttered under my breath.

"Oh shit, indeed." Pam looked down her elegant nose at me, "Did you seriously expect me to go down on my knees for you?" she asked, obviously incredulous at the thought.

I tried to look cool, even though I was burning with embarrassment inside.

"Still, I'd hate to be the one to embarrass you in front of your companions." She turned to survey the bank of video cameras that covered the bar and rest rooms. "What's your type Mr Northman, blonde, brunette or redhead?"

I shrugged, trying my hardest not to focus on the image of Jason Stackhouse's blonde sister which had just popped into my head.

Pam ignored me. She picked up the phone to issue an instruction in a voice so quiet I strained to hear it. I'd barely had time to draw breath when the office door opened and a girl stumbled in, tottering forward on high stiletto heels. She managed to steady herself, grasping onto the large desk which dominated the room. She was blonde, an unlike most of the other patrons she was wearing a short blue gingham dress. If it hadn't been so low cut at the front it would have reminded me of Judy Garland in 'The Wizard of Oz'. I guess she thought it would make her stand out, but this probably wasn't the outcome she'd intended.

Pam stepped round the desk and grasped the girl by her upper arms, bringing their faces eye to eye. Her expression glazed over as the instructions were glamoured into her, and Pam settled herself into an oversized leather chair, a satisfied smirk on her face.

The girl moved slowly towards me and I stepped back, bracing my arms against the desk. I've never had any objection to meaningless sex, but it was normally on my terms. Now I felt like a performer in a porn show, and it wasn't a good feeling. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. Slowly the image of Sookie Stackhouse's old farmhouse came into my mind and I focussed hard. She had an old pine table in her kitchen, and I imagined that I was gripping its rough surface rather than the smooth desk.

I felt the girl unbuckle my belt and slide my jeans down to my knees, but I didn't look at her as she went to work. Instead I kept the image of Sookie in my mind, envisioning her blonde head bobbing up and down, her lips and tongue working their magic.

"My, my, it's true what they say," I heard Pam mutter, as the ministrations had the desired effect. The girl was good, there was no doubt she'd done this before. I let the warmth rise up through my belly and roll around my chest. My breathing quickened, and I struggled to supress a groan as she brought me off.

"Very good," Pam purred from her seat in the corner. "Wouldn't you say so, Mr Northman?"

Opening my eyes, I looked down at the girl who was sitting back on her heels, eyes closed, giving me a good view of her full breasts.

"You can take her here if you like, I find it all very entertaining," she smirked.

"I'm good, thank you." I demurred.

"Clean yourself up, the bathroom is there," Pam ordered the girl brusquely.

She struggled to her feet, as I readjusted my clothing and started across the room.

"Wait, I have a little task for you." The vampire rose from her seat and moved towards me with a determined look on her face.

"Just tell me," I responded, snippily. I'd had just about enough of her manipulation.

"I'm having a little ….soiree… soon. I'd like it if you could attend, and bring your friend Mr Stackhouse."

"Will you be looking for a repeat performance?" I gestured at the door to the bathroom.

"Maybe," Pam drawled, the familiar menacing tone back in her voice. "Just make sure you answer my invitation when it arrives. I don't take kindly to rejection."

She sat down behind the desk and opened her laptop. I was dismissed.


End file.
